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ponds-of-ink · 3 years

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So, to recap Spooky AU for the new followers:

Edmond (as Monte Cristo) has been trying to figure out who’s been turning the citizens of Marseilles into monsters while he was gone. He’s recruited Maximillian Morrell, Andrea Calvacanti (who’s a bat boy, by the way), and Danglars to go to different parts of the town and see how they’re doing.

There have been two, um, “subplots” so far. Subplot A is Danglars (I think?) finding out that Mercedes and Fernand are literal ghosts haunting their own childhood house. …Not that he didn’t know they were dead for years, but the ghost part is new. Edmond and the duo sadly reunite and Danglars is probably thinking “this sort of thing won’t happen to me, I bet”.

And then Subplot B happens. Andrea discovers he’s the kid of Hermine and Gerard de Villefort as a result of some countryside home/ghost-hunt affair. He tells Danglars, which genuinely breaks the once-greedy “rat”. Andrea decides to find Gerard, which results in A realizing “oh we’re both vampires. Cool.”

At this point, they’re probably all regrouping for some pre-sunrise meeting back at the inn. There might be tension on the horizon, and a whole bunch of names are ready to be crossed off the suspect list.

That’s the main set plot points for something that doesn’t even have a set fanfic. The fact that this came from an art prompt answered by @frosted-firefly is astounding. Go check her side of it, if you’re interested.

#spooky au #the count of monte cristo #recap post #I hope this is easy to understand

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ponds-of-ink · 3 years

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A short (?) fanfic inspired by @frosted-firefly‘s latest answer to a drawing request. I was going to post this as a genuine fanfic, but I wanted to “publish” it here first. Y’know, because context.

Enjoy this semi-rushed piece and let me know what you think.

A carriage sped down the narrow roads leading to the town of Marseilles. The driver, eying both sides at each turn, urged the horses to roll faster and faster. “I’m sorry, Monsieur Morrell,” he called over the thundering hoofbeats. “I’m afraid there’s no turning back.”

The coach’s rider opened the window and leaned his head out. “What do you mean, Philipe?” he asked in fluent French. “Marseilles was my childhood home, not a den of thieves or a hideaway for the corrupt. My father lived and died here, and I never heard of such a horrible implication from him. For shame if someone has ruined this beacon of hope for France’s commerce or her people!”

The driver we now know as Philipe winced as he watched the fog build around them. With great swiftness and an even greater knowledge of how to master horses, he slowed the beasts down to a trot. “With all due honesty, Master Maximillian, I didn’t mean to imply that Marseilles is a smuggler’s cove,” he admitted as he lit his lantern. “It’s not, really. Think of it as a place where krakens might lurk the seas or ghouls lurk in every corner.”

Maximillian shuddered at the mention of krakens. The questions he wanted to ask died in his throat. He put his head back inside then shut the window. His heart throbbed. For all his years as a soldier, he had never experienced the terror any soul under the haunting song of ghost stories. Was Marseilles doomed by some eerie calamity? Did a shipwreck unknowingly set off a chain of events that led to this? Or a vengeful ghost wishing to ruin everyone in its path until its “justice” was finished?

As the passenger contemplated the past, the driver focused on the present. One hand pulled tightly to the reins while the other held the handle of the candlelit lantern. All he could rely on was the yellowed map on his knees and the sensitivity of his horses. Such sensitivity was well tested when the pack rose to their back hooves and whinnied in fear. “Whoa!” Philipe yelled, tugging back the reins and trying to regain control. “What did you lads see?” His answer emerged as three ring-tailed animals with its leader wearing a tattered hat. They scurried up to the coach and clawed at the door. “Get away from there!” Philipe growled, preparing to leap down and confront them himself.

“You heard the gentleman,” a snakelike voice said, alerting the rodents. “Leave the coach alone. We don’t want to scratch any gold paint off, do we?”

The trio chirped as if disappointed, then hurried to the stranger’s side. “You’ll have to forgive them,” he chuckled. “They”re just as greedy as their namesake. Old Caderousse loved his gold as much as these wretches love their garbage.” He approached the carriage and placed an arm on the motionless driver’s seat. The man was a well-dressed (if not slightly gaudy) figure with a deep plum top hat and an orange bow-tie to match his suit. His face was scuffed by decades-old injuries, but his mood certainly seemed unaffected by them. “Say, you look a bit agitated for someone startled by raccoons,” he noted, taking a good at his surprised listener. “May I ask where you were headed?”

Maximillian, who had been listening to the entire scene from inside the coach, peered outside from the window. “We are supposed to be at Marseilles tonight,” he explained. “I was given a letter by—“

“A mysterious person known only as Sinbad,” interrupted the stranger darkly.

“How did you know?”

“Because I myself had received a message like that months ago. The promise of gold lured me in, then I got this job as payment for my stay here.”

“Payment? For what?”

A bitter laugh escapes the hat-wearing man as he approaches the solider. “My dear Maximillian, I’m surprised at you,” he said, placing his elbow on the paneling. “Time may have eroded any childhood memories, but I thought your father would have mentioned my disappearance before he died.”

Maximillian started. “Danglars?” he asked hoarsely.

“Very good. Maybe I’m not as ill-remembered as I thought.”

“But how did you end up like this?”

Danglars’ expression strained. “Let’s save that story for another time,” he answered with some hesitation. “You must be on your way, and I don’t want you to be more than fashionably late.” He then paused to watch Philipe and the black-masked bandits quarrel. “May I serve as driver’s assistant for the rest of the trip?” he resumed. “I’ve guided many a carriage down these roads like Captain Leclere led the ocean-fairing boats.”

“Anything to put Philipe at ease,” Maximillian replied, putting a hand to the doorknob. “But be sure to not mislead us, or I will take action when our next stop arrives.”

“Don’t cast such a dark cloud of thought upon yourself,” Danglars grinned before turning to face the tense battle of man versus animal. “I’m legally obligated to make sure each person enters in safely. So, on behalf of the town, allow me to say ‘Welcome Home’.”

A few minutes later, and all six members of this motley crew rode past the gate that served as the west entrance. The lights in each window dispelled the fog, allowing Philipe to park the horses in an orderly manner. Once the journey had officially ended, Maximillian stepped out into the narrow cobblestone street. A grim atmosphere and an ever-present chill in the air greeted his senses as he processed what had changed. The buildings, though clearly still strong in their construction, had a look of decay and corruption. Anyone who passed him dove inside somewhere or rushed by without a word. If he had seen an old acquaintance in that moment, they were unrecognizable either due to some dramatic change or to their clothing choices. “What is going on here?” Maximillian asked Danglars, who had busied himself with paying the raccoons in jewels. “Philipe warmed me of krakens and ghouls, but there are none to be seen!”

“That’s because the ghouls are a little timid this hour,” explained the guide, joining the young solider’s side. “If you want to see them, I suggest waiting until some time past midnight. As for krakens, that’s just old sailor’s tales. If they did exist, they would be the only thing in this lot I would be genuinely afraid of.”

Maximillian nodded. “My father did say you dreaded storms because of that,” he added. “But that was when you were young and inexperienced.”

“‘Inexperienced’ is not a strong enough word,” Danglars muttered to himself, adjusting the brim of his top hat. The realization that his job was not yet over helped him regain his composure. “Mercifully, the past is the past,” he resumed with a confident air. “Now I have a mission that is not guided by the stars, but by a strong sense of direction. Follow me, and I will show you your inn for the night.”

Maximillian silently complied. As he wandered through the winding streets of his old home, his ears caught a faint noise mixed with the gentle breeze. It was almost as if someone was in the deepest throes of agony, but did not want to be found. He looked at his guide, but nothing in his posture had significantly changed. “Maybe this is one of those monstrous souls who now resides here,” the soldier figured. “Maybe I will meet this strange fellow later on tonight, if my fate gets any more strange and fortunate.”

#the count of monte crisyo #fanfic #halloween au #is this the start of something?#dunno #we’ll see #baron danglars #maximillian morrel #raccoon #caderousse #memtioned

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